


Misshapes, Mistakes, Monsters

by ZaliaChimera



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkwardness, Bullying, Champagne, Embarrassment, Failboats In Love, Friendship, Kissing, Lonely!Martin, M/M, Oxford, School Reunion, Season/Series 04, Spoilers, Threats, Tuxedos, University, happy monsters, inappropriate use of beholding powers, rich people being awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 23:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: The Archives are his and stepping away from them, even for a night… it’s strange. Like he’s pretending to be someone else.Like he’s pretending to be human.Jon and Martin attend Jon's Oxford University Reunion.





	Misshapes, Mistakes, Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> My Big Bang fic!!! 
> 
> [Will be linking artwork as soon as I have the link.]

“Martin, can I have a word?”

Martin looks up at Jon from the papers that he’s reading, a pit of deep concern opening in his chest. Jon is looking at him intently, like he’s trying to work out how best to strip him of his secrets. It had been uncomfortable at first, until Martin had realised that he looked at everyone like that. He’s not sure Jon can look at people any other way these days. 

“Uh, sure Jon. What is it?”

He looks around, and Martin’s a little concerned that there’s some immediate danger, but then that gaze focuses on him again. Jon shifts his weight from foot to foot. He opens his mouth, closes it again and then stares at the table top. 

“I have an event to go to,” he says finally. “At my Oxford college. I want you to come with me. Please.”

Martin stares at him, the words taking a few moments to really process because for a second it had sounded like Jon was- “You want me to what?”

Jon blinks at him and there’s a little crease of a frown between his eyes. When Martin had first met him, back in research, it had usually meant that he was trying to figure out if whoever he was talking to was incurably stupid. Martin had been on the wrong end of it a few times. These days though, it’s more often that Jon’s trying to figure out if he’s said something wrong, if he’s accidentally blurted out some piece of knowledge that he shouldn’t have known.

Martin shouldn’t find it as adorable as he does.

“Ah- I asked if you’d like to come to my college reunion,” Jon says.

“I didn’t go to your college,” Martin blurts out, and then immediately wants to die of embarrassment at saying something so stupid.

“I know,” Jon says. “But I’m allowed a plus one.” 

“Why? I thought you’d be going with Georgie.” He thinks he manages to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice, and thankfully Jon, for all his ability to Know and draw answers out of people, is still painfully oblivious when it comes to emotions. Martin feels guilty about it honestly. Georgie is lovely, and Martin likes her a lot, but he’s seen the way that she and Jon interact, how comfortable they are, and he knows that he can never give Jon that.

Being invited to Jon’s reunion, at _Oxford_ of all places, a million miles beyond what Martin could ever have hoped to achieve, even if he hadn’t dropped out of school, just compounds that feeling into a cold hard knot in his belly.

“Georgie has her own invite,” Jon replies. “We’re not together. We don’t want to give people the impression that we are.” He gives a helpless little shrug and wry smile. “The people we went to university with can be quite- quite _interested_ in information that’s none of their business. Which- well, I suppose I’d fit right in now.” 

The words come out so bitter that Martin can practically taste it, and he wants to reach out and smooth away the lines from around Jon’s lips, but he holds back, and twists his fingers in the hem of his jumper instead. 

“So I’m there to- what?” He wants to agree. God, a night out with Jon is the sort of thing he’s dreamed of and he should just shut his mouth and nod and agree and-

And then find out that whatever is going on in the head of Jonathan Sims when he asks something like this, is on a completely different planet to what Martin is thinking. 

“To be my plus one?” Jon says, the words careful, trying to figure out what Martin means.

“Well yes, but am I there just to- to prove that you and Georgie aren’t together? Or- or because you want to- I don’t know, make sure you’re fitting in with your posh Oxford friends. Am I a trophy boyfriend?”

It’s mostly a joke. Martin knows that he’s never going to be anyone’s top prize, and this is _Oxford_ which is full of people used to winning.

Jon gives a soft snort of laughter, and when he looks back at Martin, he’s smiling. Actually smiling. It makes him look closer to his real age. It’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s about the same age as Martin is. He’s one of those people who you look at them and think ‘yes, that is an adult. They probably know about pensions’. 

Of course Martin knows better by now. Jon’s as neurotic and messed up as the rest of them, and that’s before you even get to the becoming a monster thing. Martin can sympathise.

“I wanted to ask you because- honestly? I would like to have someone there who I actually like. And-“ he continues, before Martin can say interrupt, “yes, I know Georgie will be there but she has friends she kept in touch with. And I’d like to have someone there who- who isn’t insufferable and can carry on a decent conversation without it turning into a contest for who went on the most extravagant holiday this year.”

That is a lot to take in. Martin looks at him for a moment, a little concerned that he’s misheard. Had Jon really said that he liked him? Sure, he _knows_ that Jon doesn’t hate him, and there’s been this weird ‘not-quite-something’ between them for- for ages now. But he’s never said anything. Neither of them have. Too scared. Too worried it’s some kind of curse.

“I don’t have a suit,” Martin blurts out. “Not nice one anyway.” Just the one that he’d worn for his mum’s funeral, and that hadn’t been anything fancy. 

“I’m renting a tuxedo,” Jon says. “I can rent one for you too. And I’ve got a hotel booked. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

He’s really thought this through hasn’t he? Martin’s eyes narrow. “Jon, how long have you been planning to ask me?”

There is a slow redness creeping up Jon’s face and he scrubs a hand against the back of his neck. “Um, since I got the invitation.”

“Which was…?”

“About… about a month ago,” Jon says, and he mumbles it. Jon never mumbles, except he does it now, and that means-

“You’ve been planning to ask me for a month? Jon-“ He doesn’t know what to say. God… that’s weird. Jon finds asking him intimidating enough to to agonise for this long. He’s not sure if it’s flattering or not so he’s just going to go with… yes. That’s the safest thing.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Jon says hastily. “I can’t say it’s going to be the most thrilling experience.”

“I’ll go,” Martin says quickly, before Jon can talk them both out of it. It’s the right answer. Jon’s face brightens and opens up in tentative delight like a flower unfurling in sunlight. He’s beautiful. It’s a weird, inhuman sort of beauty, but it takes Martin’s breath away every time he catches a glimpse of it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m very sure. Besides, it’ll be nice to get out of the Archives for a bit. I’ve never been to Oxford before. Just seen it on TV.”

“It’s not- no, it’s pretty much exactly like you’d think,” Jon says dryly. The relief is clear in his voice. “Fewer murders though, more drunk students.”

“Good, my chances of survival might actually go up.” It’s a horrible joke and he feels a bit guilty making it but he has to cope somehow.

“Oh, trust me, some of them will suck you dry, but in a metaphorical sort of way,” Jon replies, and then “Thank you, Martin. For coming with me.” 

His expression is soft, gentle and he sort of leans forward, just a bit, enough that Martin thinks that maybe- maybe- But then he straightens up again and clears his throat. “I should- Work.”

And then he’s gone, and all Martin can do is drag his hands down his face and groan.

—————

Jon stares at his reflection in the mirror. There is a faintly accusatory expression on his face as he straightens the bowtie. His hair is slicked back into a semblance of neatness that he’d long since abandoned on a normal day.

Georgie had worked magic with a little makeup, reducing the dark circles around his eyes, and covering up the scars, and while nothing will help with the pinched lines of pain and exhaustion around his mouth and eyes, or the prematurely greying hair, he looks younger, softer. More like the Jonathan Sims of five years ago, before he’d ever heard of Beholding or the Unknowing or Jane Prentiss. 

He hates that Jon a little bit. For the pain he hadn’t been through yet. For the humanity he hadn’t lost. For the people he hadn’t seen die.

“Jon- do you know how to- uh- oh damn.”

“Are you okay Martin?” he calls. 

“I’m- do you know how to tie a bowtie? I’m a bit stuck.”

“I’ll be right in.” He takes another look at his reflection, smiles briefly and tries to make it look natural instead of hideously forced. He doesn’t think he succeeds but at least it looks less like he hates everything. 

He heads towards the bathroom and stops dead in the door at the sight of Martin. He’s wearing a tuxedo, the same as Jon, pristine black and white and the glint of silver cufflinks. He’s leaning towards the mirror over the sink, squinting as he tries to fashion the black cloth into something that resembles a bow. 

He looks stunning. It doesn’t make him look older exactly, but he wears it well, like it’s showing off every day of the experience and knowledge that he’s grown into. Jon has seen it before, of course, he’s been there for it as Martin’s changed. As they’ve both changed around each other. But seeing the physical reminder- 

“Jon?”

Martin’s voice breaks him out of his reverie and he realises that he’s been staring. He can feel awkwardness creep up his neck in shades of red. 

“Let me help,” he says to stave it off. Doing is always better than thinking or, god forbid, talking.

He moves up behind Martin, who passes him the bowtie. Jon straightens it out and curls his arms around Martin’s shoulders to begin tying it. It’s a little awkward doing it on someone else, but the movements are familiar, the sort of muscle memory that you don’t forget easily. And even if he had forgotten, he’s sure that he could have Known what to do.

Martin stays very still while he does it, and his reflection stares at Jon. He has tiny silver studs in his ears. Jon’s never noticed that his ears are pierced before. They look good on him. He’s- he’s warm. That’s surprising, considering how much time Martin has spent in the Lonely. Jon always has always run a bit cold, and it’s only got worse since the coma. But he can feel Martin’s warmth through his clothing and part of him very much wants to press up against his back to feel more of it.

“Done,” he says instead, and steps away.

Martin turns his head from side to side, examining the bowtie, before he turns to Jon. “How do I look? I look stupid don’t I? Like- like I’m a kid dressing up in adult clothes.”

“What?” Jon says, a frown creasing his forehead. “No. You look- you look lovely, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t look convinced. “I’ve never dressed up like this before, Jon. I’ve never been anywhere posh.”

“It’s not-“ He catches Martin’s sceptical look and sighs. “Alright. It’s definitely posh but- you look good like this. You’ve doubtless put more effort into it than anyone else going.”

“Yeah, ‘cause everyone else probably owns their own tuxedo,” Martin mutters. His shoulders scrunch up and then he sighs. “Right. I can do this.”

“At least we can be miserable together,” Jon agrees. God he could do with a smoke. “Are you ready? Georgie is here.”

There is a knock on the door. Martin raises an eyebrow and mouths ‘Really?’ then bustles past Jon to go and answer it.

“Well, you look lovely. I think we’re going to make people jealous.”

Jon smiles at the sound of Georgie’s voice, and straightens his tie before heading back into the bedroom, just in time to see her step back from the hug she’s enveloped Martin in. Georgie has always been the most attractive person Jon knows, and dressed up like this, her hair twisted into some elaborate mass of curls, and wearing a dark burgundy cocktail dress, she is stunning.

“I suppose you tidy up well too, Jon,” she says, and Jon accepts the hug that she offers. She squeezes him a bit more tightly than she might normally, and he likes it, the contact. Doesn’t get a whole lot of it these days, and Georgie had always given good hugs.

“Are you ready?” he asks when she steps away.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“Absolutely not,” Jon says, and his smile is lopsided. “I’m never ready for these things, but we’re here now so… might as well get on with it.”

“You’re not making me feel any more confident here Jon,” Martin says.

“Oh come on. How bad can it be?” Georgie says. 

Jon shares a look with Martin. It’s vaguely horrified and deeply concerned. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

It isn’t a long walk from the hotel to the the main building of Balliol College, but Jon feels like every step makes him heavier. He hasn’t been back here since he graduated. Wouldn’t have come to the reunion if Georgie hadn’t asked. The streets are at once familiar and utterly alien, like he’s seeing them through new eyes.

He supposes in a way that he is.

Every step he takes is one into the past, into _his_ past, and it is like pulling on an ill-fitting suit. The mannerisms of a decade ago, of a student, do not fit him anymore. They wouldn’t fit anyone, not really. But it’s more than that. The Archives are his and stepping away from them, even for a night… it’s strange. Like he’s pretending to be someone else.

Like he’s pretending to be human.

“Are you okay, Jon?” Martin asks softly. He’s dropped back from chatting with Georgie to walk next to Jon, although his attention is at least half on their surroundings. Cobblestone streets and dreaming spires. 

“Of course I am,” he says. “It’s not like I’m walking into a terrifying supernatural ritual to remake the world,” he adds, lips twisting into a bitter smile.

“That’s not funny,” Martin mutters.

“I’m fine, Martin. I promise. It’s just… weird to be back here. After everything. It’s exactly the same as I remember. And I- I’m not.”

“I- I know what you mean. Sort of,” Martin says softly. “When I used to go back to visit my mum. It was the same place. I grew up there. But- I know it’s not the same but-“

“Martin’s right,” Georgie says. She stops a few paces ahead, and turns to look at them. “None of us are the same people we were. I’m not. And you have the whole spooky thing going on.”

“Please don’t call it that,” Jon says.

Georgie ignores him. “You’ve changed more literally than most people. But no-one’s going to know that unless you’re planning on snacking on someone.”

“It wasn’t the plan,” Jon says, and his smile widens a little.

“Which is good,” Georgie says. “There will be food there. But everyone’s changed, Jon. Well, probably. There’s a couple of them I’m not sure about.”

Jon snorts softly. “I think I can guess a few of the people you’re thinking of.” There were some people who never would.

“Probably,” Georgie agrees. “Come on, we want to be fashionably late, not embarrassingly late.”

“We’re actually… early.” Oh, she’s gone. Jon doesn’t know how she manages to walk so quickly in heels like that across uneven cobblestone, but she manages to make it look easy.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Martin asks softly. 

They set off walking again, trying to catch up to Georgie. The facade of the collage is in view by now, gorgeous and menacing in equal measure, and Jon feels a flicker of the same anxiety he’d felt years ago, first approaching it. 

“It’s just a reunion,” he says, although his mouth is dryer than he’d like. “What can possibly go wrong?”

—————

The hall of the college is obscenely impressive. It’s like being in a cathedral, towering ceilings and huge leaded windows and beams and tables made of dark wood. 

Martin feels very small.

Even before he’d dropped out of school, he’d never even have dreamed of applying here. He’d gone to a normal local high school with plastic chairs and computers that didn’t work half the time. He’d been on free school lunches! He’d never have ended up in a place like this.

“So you’re here with Jonathan then?”

The man asking him has an accident that sounds right out of a period drama and Martin is fairly sure that his shoes cost more than Martin’s monthly rent. Hell, his haircut probably cost more than Martin’s rent and he lives in _London_.

“Um, yes. He invited me.” He twists the stem of the champagne flute between his fingers. He’s pretty sure it’s real champagne too, not that he would be able to tell it from sparkling wine. 

“And what do you do, uh- what was it?” 

“Martin,” he replies, and knows with excruciating clarity that this man does not care. “And I work with him at the Magnus Institute. In the Archives.”

The man turns to his friend and whispers something. Martin doesn’t need weird Beholding powers to be able to tell that it’s derogatory. He’s very well acquainted with what being insulted like this looks like, and honestly, the guy is not even trying to be subtle. 

He turns back, and there’s this piggy smirk on his lips that makes Martin’s stomach sink. “What qualifications do you need to work there.”

“Well, I- um-“ It’s a lie. It’s all a lie. “I’ve got a Master’s in parapsychology.” The words slip off his lips with ease born of long practise. He’d spent ages when he’d been praying for the interview, practising in the mirror.

It hadn’t meant anything in the end. He’s pretty sure he’d just fitted Elias’ arcane requirements for working there.

“Where from?”

Oh god, where had he said it was from? Not that he thinks anyone is going to be cross-referencing but it’s the sort of thing you should know, right? “Manchester.”

“Oh, a red brick…” the man says, and his smile is stretched tight on thin lips. There’s muffled sniggering from his companion, and Martin wants to sink into the ground and die. He wants to let the fog and Lonely take him. Or take them. 

He sees one of them shiver and realises that the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees. He wrenches it back, focuses for a second on the people he knows. On Jon, and Georgie and the rest of the Archival staff.

“And what do you parents do?”

And there it goes again. it’s only a force of will that keeps the temperature steady.

“Oh-“ He’s floundering. What the hell kind of question is that? No-one asks that unless you- unless you’re dating and have got to a point where you might meet their parents!

And how does he say it without everything crashing down? 

“Martin! There you are.”

He has never felt so relieved to hear anyone’s voice as he has to hear Georgie in that moment. She slinks in next to him and takes his arm. “I was looking for you. You simply have to meet~”

She manoeuvres him away from the small group, gives them a porcelain smile, and then they’re away and Martin’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you.”

“You looked like you could use a rescue,” Georgie says. 

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve felt under that much scrutiny since my interview.”

Georgie hums in agreement. “Yep. That’s often how it goes. There are great people here, and then there’s the ones who think they own the world.”

Martin resists the urge to look back. “Yeah, I- I got that impression.”

“Don’t let them get to you.” She gives a helpless smile. “I realise that’s easier said than done. But you’re worth every bit as much as them.”

Martin gives her a sceptical look. All he can think about for a moment is the lies on his CV and every mistake that he’s ever made on a report or in a translation for when following up a statement. He spots Jon across the hall. He has a champagne flute between his fingers, and his tuxedo is perfectly pressed and he’s obviously deep in some fascinating conversation, something he can really sink his teeth into, with people who- people who are more on his level. Like Martin isn’t.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Um, I just need some air, okay?” 

Georgie’s forehead crinkles in concern, but she nods, and points towards a heavy door that’s partly ajar. “That leads to the quad. Don’t- let me know if you need anything okay, Martin?”

He forces a smile, and nods. “Of course. Have fun.”

She rolls her eyes, but her expression has eased. She pats his arm, and Martin takes that as his cue to flee. He slips outside into the quad and the cool night air, and leans back against the ancient stone wall, listening to the sounds of the party within.

——————

There have been many times during his life when Jon has felt out of place. He’d always been an odd child. Too quiet and bookish, and too aggressive when making his point, especially when he knew that he was _right_. It felt like he’d missed a lesson somewhere about how to interact with people.

And this might be the most out of place that he’s ever felt.

“You never post on Facebook anymore, Jon. You should keep in touch more.” Liz Anders. Nice girl… woman now he supposes. They’d been friends. He thinks they’d been friends? They’d been in a seminar group together and she was nice to him. Normal. Another of the small group of people from state schools that he and Georgie had gathered around themselves. 

“I’ve been busy,” Jon replies, forcing a smile. “You know how it is.”

“Burning the candle at both ends. You really haven’t changed.” Liam Cunningham. Kind of stuck up, but in that ‘doesn’t really understand that not everyone can afford to go first class’ way, rather than out of malice. Nice arse. They’d fucked once, back when Jon was still trying to prove something to himself.

“Some of us are… set in our ways,” Jon says, and the smile becomes ever more brittle. He wants to laugh really. God, they have no idea. They’re just nice normal people, living their lives, unaware of the monster in their midst.

It makes him feel awful. It makes him feel _elated_.

“You’re in academia right?” Liam says. “Last I saw you’d just got promoted.”

“To Head Archivist, yes.” God, it really had been that long hadn’t it? That’s when the late nights had started, when he’d stopped checking his social media because he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

“Don’t the Magnus Institute do all that spooky stuff?” Liz says, wrinkling her nose.

Jon suppresses a wince at that. God he hates that word. “We research the paranormal. Academically,” he says, the response automatic by now. 

“Oh yeah? Have you found anything real?” Liam says, leaning forward eagerly. His last breakup had been bad, Jon Knows suddenly. He’s on the rebound. “Seen any ghosts?”

Jon’s tongue flicks out over his lips, nervousness or hunger? Even he isn’t sure. If he told them, if he drew out their secrets like blood, would they fear him? Would it taste good? Would it satisfy?

“Jon?”

Jon blinks up at Liam, his fingers tightening around his glass. “Hm?”

“You just- wow, got sort of intense there, staring.”

“Sorry,” he says, giving a sickly smile. “Lost in thought.”

“Right. So have you? Seen any ghosts I mean?”

“I heard the Magnus Institute is crazy haunted,” Liz adds conspiratorially. “My cousin’s ex-boyfriend, he went there to give a statement. Said it felt like something was watching him.”

Jon remembers the feeling from his interview. He wishes he could pinpoint the moment when it became a comforting feeling rather than one of disquiet.

“I can’t say I’ve seen any ghosts,” Jon replies. And there are words on his tongue, terrible, horrifying words, stories of monsters and entities that they can’t imagine. They seem so unbearably naive in that moment and he- he is overcome with a sudden fierce longing for the Institute and the Archives, like the deepest homesickness. His domain. 

God, he really is too far gone to help isn’t he? Like the statements dragged out of people and the satisfaction of them didn’t already tell him that.

“Nah, you’re just doing desk work I bet. Filing,” Liam says, and nudges his shoulder in a way that is meant to be companionable, maybe even flirty, but is just sort of uncomfortable. He doesn’t fit here.

The smile that he gives is thin, stretched. There is an ache in his chest, and he isn’t sure if it’s for everything he’s lost—people, certainty, humanity—or for the Jonathan Sims of ten years ago, who had been so blind and naive. He should feel worse that he’s conflicted about it shouldn’t he? “Mostly. But it has its moments.”

“So come on then!” Liz says. “Tell us a creepy story! You must have something good.”

Liam nods eagerly, leaning towards him, hand brushing against his back.

Jon thinks through every statement he’s ever read, and every person he’s torn open to take their story. Thinks of the people he’s lost, and the person that he can’t be anymore. And he hates them both just a little.

—————  
Martin finally makes his way back inside when a couple of drunken attendees stumble out into the quad and start making out up against the wall nearby. They don’t even notice that Martin’s there. Not that that’s unusual. They quickly get to hands down pants and Martin flees back inside. 

Things have quieted down a little since he went to get some air, people drifting away into their own groups on sofas and clusters of chairs. It makes him feel very disconnected from everything, but that’s not an unfamiliar feeling. 

Georgie spots him from one of those clusters, looks up from her animated discussion with another woman and gives a little wave. It’s an invitation, but Martin shakes his head and gives a smile. He doesn’t want to interrupt her having fun just because he feels woefully out of place and very very alone.

He shivers, and glances over his shoulder out of the window, half expecting to see the ground covered with fog. There’s nothing. It’s a lovely, balmy summer night and the loneliness here is entirely his own.

He slips between chairs and tables and the cosy little groups of people until he spots Jon. He’s sitting at a table with a few people, and- and he doesn’t look happy. Most people might not have noticed, but Martin knows Jon, has studied him, and he recognises the hunch of his shoulders, the tightness of his expression. He looks intensely uncomfortable, almost in pain, and well, Georgie had rescued Martin from an awkward conversation, so Martin can do the same for Jon.

He strides over to Jon’s chair, trying to look confident and purposeful. Jon looks up at him and there’s a look of sheer relief on his face.

“Jon! There you are!”

“Martin. Was there something you needed?”

“Yes. I just got a call from-“

“Ugh, should have known it would be one of your lot lowering the tone, Sims” The man who’d spoken, the one sitting next to Jon, rolls his eyes and the look he shoots Martin is positively scornful.

“Excuse me?” Martin says, mustering all of the indignation he can and giving what he hopes is a withering glare.

The man leans back in his seat, and he just radiates arrogance. He looks like he should be a character in Brideshead Revisited. “Sims and Barker and their little posse of state school kids. People who don’t belong here. At least Sims tried to fit in. Did you even go to university?”

It’s said with a sneer, and Martin tenses. Part of him wants to protest, to claim that he has a Master’s degree, and an academic job but- but it’s all a lite isn’t it? 

“That isn’t-“

“You got a damn third, Edmund,” Jon mutters, giving the man a venomous look. “And only just scraped that.”

Martin could kiss him for that. But considering how awkward Jon already looks, he might actually die if Martin tried.

The man, Edmund — god, he probably has like five middle names — waves a dismissive hand at Jon. “Are you his charity case, until he finds someone better? His ‘Common People’ fling? Guess everyone has to have one just for the novelty.”

It stings. The university jab, and the ‘Common People’ thing because god knows he’s spent enough time agonising over being poor, being a charity case. But that’s all it is these days; a sting. He’s walked through the Lonely and out the other side. 

He folds his arms over his chest, entirely stubborn. Reminds himself that _Edmund_ would probably have died of malnutrition without a maid to cater to him if he’d been trapped by evil worm ladies.

“You don’t-“

A hand grabs his and he turns and Jon is there, very close, hand around his. “Martin. He isn’t worth it.”

He deflates and nods and lets Jon start to tug him away. But Edmund lurches to his feet. He’s staggering a bit. Must have had a bit too much champagne. His hand falls heavy on Martin’s shoulder and wrenches him around. There’s a drunken leer on his face and his breath stinks. “If you ever want a real man when Sims is bored of you…”

Martin pulls away sharply, and right now, he really wishes he’d taken the full dive into the Lonely. As it is, the temperature drops a few degrees and for a second, Martin sees mist in his vision. He lets out a breath, forces it back down, ignores that call of cold and solitude and disconnect that promises that no-one will hurt him again.

“We’re done,” he says. His voice is ice and Edmund’s eyes have gone a little wide. Martin savours the way that he shivers and part of him really wants to push for more.

He turns back to Jon, ignores the worry creasing his forehead, and pulls him away instead.

Jon takes the lead after a few moments, and takes him to a side room. It’s beautiful, with tapestries on the walls, and Martin just wishes he wasn’t still annoyed so he could appreciate it more.

“I’m sorry Martin,” Jon says. His gaze is downcast, fixed on the tips of his shiny black Oxfords. His hand is still around Martin’s. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“Are you ashamed of me?” Martin asks. It comes out sharper than he’d intended. So maybe that had stung a bit more than he’d thought.

Jon looks up. His eyes are wide and shocked. “No! God no, Martin. I- never. I just- you shouldn’t have to deal with this. I shouldn’t have inflicted that on you.”

Martin sighs, his expression softening and he strokes his thumb against Jon’s hand. “It’s not your fault they’re awful.”

“But I did know they were awful. Should have known they’d try to make you uncomfortable.”

“It looks like they were making you uncomfortable too,” Martin points out. He hadn’t missed how hunched in on himself Jon had been, how tense. 

Jon shrugs. “I’ve dealt with them before. I’ve done worse things to people than they can dream of. I can take it.”

“Jon-“ Martin begins. He signs and leans forward to rest his forehead against Jon’s. It feels for a moment like Jon will pull away, but he doesn’t. After a moment, he even relaxes, his eyes dropping closed.

“I don’t like them saying those things to you,” he says.

“Jon, compared to what we’ve been through- I mean, he was an arse, but I had Elias root through my brain and- well, I hate giving him any credit for anything but… he was better at it.” Jon winces, and Martin can feel the next apology coming already. “It’s done. Look, let’s just- get another drink. Steal a few posh nibbles and then I might head back to the hotel okay?”

“Okay. If that’s what you want,” Jon agrees. He straightens up, and Martin laments the loss of that closeness. He can virtually see Jon closing off, drawing walls up around himself. 

“Are you even enjoying yourself, Jon?” he asks. It’s not been great for him, but he has had some nice conversations. A couple of people were actually interested in the more mundane work of the Institute. And Martin knows he has no connection to these people. They’re meaningless to him, and he’s good at cutting them off these days.

Jon on the other hand, is invested.

He shrugs one skinny shoulder and glances towards the door. “I don’t belong here,” he says quietly. “Maybe I never did. But it’s worse now.”

Martin wants to object, but- but he’s not sure what he could even say. He doesn’t have that experience of university to draw on, and he’s worked at the Magnus Institute for over a decade now. There’s no real ‘before’ for him that wasn’t miserable childhood.

Jon takes a breath that seems to make him shudder, and scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. I’ll go get us another drink.”

His smile is forced, but it’s there and it’s better than the horrible tautness in every line of his body.

“Yeah. That sounds good,” Martin agrees. “I’m going to go find Georgie and let he know the plan.”

“Right,” Jon says. “I’ll catch up with you soon.”

—————

Jon feels calm when he steps into the side room; a deep, heavy calm which comes from knowing that out of everything here, he is the most dangerous. There is nothing here that can hurt him.

He closes the door behind himself, and waits for the snick of the lock before he turns his full attention on the man at the other side of the room.

“You hurt Martin,” he says. His voice comes out cool and hard. It isn’t quite the Archivist; this man doesn’t have a story worth dragging out, but shades of the Archivist lace through it.

Edmund rolls his eyes. “What’s it to you? Can’t take the truth. Some people just aren’t good enough to be here.”

Jon tilts his head, and he can feel anger boiling in his chest, but for now the calm prevails. “You should apologise.”

It’s a chance, even if he Knows it won’t be taken.

Edmund snorts, a sound of pure derision. “No. I don’t owe you anything, Sims. What are you gonna do about it?”

Jon sighs, a heavy exhale, as though this is something he feels bad about. He should, probably. He doesn’t. “I’m not going to do anything. You’re going to do it all on your own.”

“What?”

Jon takes a step forward, then another, close enough to see the whites of the man’s eyes. “You see, I Know things about you, Edmund. I Know that you only managed to scrape a third because your father offered a significant amount of money to the college, despite all of your posturing and insistence that you belong here.”

Edmund’s face twists. “How- that’s none of your business. Everyone does it.”

“No,” Jon snaps, anger bubbling to the surface for a second. “That’s what people like you do. People who never had to fight for this. People who worked hard for this.”

Like Georgie, who had worked so hard to get in here, to keep up, even when people were cruel. 

He takes a breath, shakes his head, lets that smile slip back onto his lips. He knows that he looks hungry. He’s glad.

“Let me lay this out for you,” Jon says, every word clipped and sharp-edged. “You work in banking because your father got you a job at the company of one of his friends. You’re married but you’re also sleeping with several other people. You hide a significant portion of your income from your wife in an off-shore bank account, where you can also avoid paying tax. Am I getting close?”

His smile widens, closer to baring his teeth than smiling really.

Edmund looks afraid. He’s very pale suddenly, eyes wide and shocked. There is something horribly satisfying about it. Jon may regret this tomorrow, but right now he’s just angry. Angry for Martin being insulted, angry for Georgie for having to work twice as hard to feel like she belonged here. Angry for himself, for every snide remark about state school students and for every part of himself he’d had to try to change just to fit in here.

“What? Is this something you can’t deal with by throwing money at it?” he asks. And it’s cruel perhaps, but what’s the point of being a monster if he can’t make someone regret what they’d done?

“I- I’ll get you fired! I know people! They’re wreck your Institute!”

It’s laughable really. So horribly funny that he thinks he could do anything to affect the Institute and Jon’s position there. He doesn’t laugh though.

“No, you won’t do that,” Jon replies. “If you try to come near the Institute, if you try to hurt me, or Georgie, or _Martin_, I will drag every secret you have out of you and make sure that it’s made public knowledge.”

“You- you can’t do that!” He’s very white now, very pale, and Jon can taste his fear. It fizzes on his tongue like champagne. Hardly a meal, but there’s something enjoyable about it anyway.

“Can’t I?” Jon says. He can feel that Knowing well up inside him, from drips to trickles to streams of knowledge. “All of that insider trading. The bribes to politicians, and police. Even the drugs you bought at the Elephant Club in Mayfair two weeks ago. I’m sure someone would like to know about that.”

“How do you know that?”

Jon’s a little impressed that he’s still speaking. “You should probably make sure I don’t have a reason to See you again, Edmund.”

He maintains eye contact for a few moments longer, unblinking and dark, and then turns away to head for the door. He pauses, one hand resting against the ancient wood. “Oh, you should apologise to Martin,” he adds. “And if you try anything, I’ll make sure that every plot point in the next season of Game of Thrones is spoiled for you.”

He slips through the door and lets it close behind him, shutting off the sweet scent of terror.

—————

Jon’s been gone for a lot longer than Martin was expecting. Definitely longer than should be necessary just to grab another drink, especially when the entire place was practically swimming in champagne. He’d spotted him heading into one of the side rooms earlier though, assumed it was a bathroom or- who knew with places like this? He might have ended up in Narnia for all Martin knew.

“I’m just going to find Jon, okay?” he says to Georgie. 

Georgie’s eyes narrow for a second, but then she nods. “Might be a good idea.”

Martin slips away, and heads over to the door he’d seen Jon go through. He might not even be in there but it’s a good place to start, right?

He reaches for the handle, and starts to push the door open, only to stop when he hears voices. Hears Jon’s voice, low and intense and- he recognises that voice. It’s the one that Jon slips into when he reads a statement, when the hunger seeps into him, the same way the ice and fog curls around Martin’s voice.

_ “If you try to come near the Institute, if you try to hurt me, or Georgie, or _Martin_, I will drag every secret you have out of you and make sure that it’s made public knowledge.”_

What?

He should pull away. He really shouldn’t be listening to this. But then the other person speaks, and oh god, it’s that guy from earlier. The one who’d been a dick, stammering and gasping, and Martin can’t deny that there’s something satisfying about hearing that.

He presses closer against the door, listens as Jon continues to speak, that same dark, hypnotic voice. He’s- well, it should be terrifying. God, he knows the damage that Jon can do with a few carefully curated words and question marks. 

_“You should probably make sure I don’t have a reason to See you again, Edmund.”_

He should be afraid. He should be _concerned_, but there’s a flush creeping up his neck and cheeks hearing Jon like that and god, what does it say about him that he finds it hot?

He hears footsteps approaching, and closes the door as quickly and quietly as he can, and backs away. He should go. He should definitely not be here when-

Jon emerges, and practically bumps into him. Jon’s eyes widen, and Martin can virtually see the humanity creeping back in bit by bit. 

“Martin?”

“Jon! Jon I-“ He sounds like he’s just hitting puberty god this is the worst. “Um-“

“You- you heard that, didn’t you?” Jon asks. There’s no fizz of compulsion in the words though, his power tamped down carefully.

“Ah- yes?” Martin replies, and gives Jon an apologetic look. “Sorry? I wasn’t sure where you’d gone.”

“I see…” Jon replies. His shoulders slump. “I- it was stupid of me and-“ He glances back at the door. “We should leave before he decides to come out.”

“Oh, right! Good idea.” He takes Jon’s hands unthinkingly and heads towards the quad that he’d been in earlier. The couple making out have thankfully gone somewhere else, and it’s just quiet and still. Sort of cosy with the sound of the party still going on inside.

Jon lets out a heavy sigh and leans back against the wall. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that,” he says, and then frowns, brow furrowing. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“I’m- Jon, I’m not angry,” Martin says. “It’s not the worst thing you could have done to him. It’s not the worst thing that I could have done to him,” he adds, and it’s sort of horrifying, but when everything is horrifying, it just becomes background noise. Which is horrible in it’s own way.

Jon gives a soft snort. “I suppose not. He didn’t even have a story worth taking. There’s thousands of people just like him.”

“He really got to you, didn’t he?” Martin asks. 

“He was awful to you,” Jon says, and that steel is back in his voice. “And to Georgie when we were here. And- and what’s the _point_ of being- being a _monster_ that feeds on fear if I can’t terrify people who hurt you?”

Martin blinks at him, breath caught in his throat. Jon stares back, and then seems to catch on to what he’d said.

“I- I mean-“ he sputters, the flush creeping up his cheeks and ears and it’s- he’s a terrifying avatar of the Beholding, and he’s here, blushing and awkward and Martin is so gone for him. “Hurt people. Hurt Georgie and you and he threatened the Archives and-“

“It’s okay Jon,” Martin says, and he doesn’t even try to hide the smile that creeps across his face. “I sort of- I like it. It’s nice to feel like I’m something worth protecting.”

Jon just stares at him, his eyes wide and dark, and so vulnerable that is makes Martin ache. “Even if it’s horrible?”

“Even if it’s horrible,” Martin agrees. “Not like either of us are able to escape that.”

“No. No I suppose not,” Jon says, and gives a soft huff of laughter. 

Martin moves to lean against the wall next to him, and tilts his head back against the cool stone. He can feel the line of warmth that is Jon next to him. “I’m not sorry that I came, you know?”

Jon’s gaze flicks towards him. “I am. I- god, I miss the Archives. I really do.”

“I mean, there were a couple of nice people,” Martin says. “And it was nice travelling up with you, and in the hotel-“

God, Jon’s fingers on his neck, adjusting his collar. It had been nice. And it’s not like he’d ever been able to dress up nicely for the Sixth Form ball at his school. 

“I’m glad,” Jon replies. His lips twitch into a small smile. “Uh, do you want to head back to the hotel? We could get a cab.”

“I think I’d like to walk with you, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Sure. I’d be happy to. I’ll grab my jacket and let Georgie know.”

“Right.”

Neither of them make any attempt to move. There’s something about the moment, the quiet and stillness, the faint strains of music across the quad, the thick summer warmth of the air. It’s stretched out, something eternal, and so fragile that Martin hardly dares to breathe.

But he has to breathe.And why not twist that breath into a question, one that’s been sitting on his lips for- for years honestly, since before he even thought it could be an option.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Wha- Oh.” Jon ducks his head, obviously a little embarrassed, but there’s no discomfort in it. None of the shock that Martin had been half expecting, never mind how long they’ve been dancing around this. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that, Martin. I think I’d like that a lot.”

“Oh.Well- I- Oh come here.”

Martin leans in and rests his hands against Jon’s chest, thumbs smoothing against the front of his suit. There’s that shy little smile on Jon’s lips, the one that Martin loves for all its rarity. His lips when they press against Martin’s, are dry and softer than he’d expected, and gentle. So careful that Martin finds himself blinking against the way that his eyes are stinging. 

“That bad hm?” Jon says when they part, amusement colouring his voice. He’s still very close, and Martin isn’t sure when his hands had come to rest against his arms. 

“No. No it was perfect,” Martin replies. He leans in to kiss him again, letting it linger sweetly. “Can we do this more?”

Jon’s smile widens. “I’d like that. As much as you want.”

“I do want,” Martin says. “Can you show me Oxford? That parts you like. It seems really pretty.” And he wants that connection to Jon. The bits of his past that he’s willing to share.

“It does have its charms.” Jon slides his hand down along Martin’s arm to curl their fingers together. His hands are warm. “I guess we should go. Before someone staggers out here and we’re dragged back into tedious conversation.”

“Oh thank god, it wasn’t just me,” Martin says. 

He gives Jon’s fingers a squeeze. Jon squeezes back, and together they head back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://zalia.tumblr.com/)


End file.
